


Let's celebrate (now that it's official)

by waterbird13



Series: Writing our own Vows [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of hell, Schmoop, Switching, domestic established relationship, honeymooning, mentions of possible eating disorder, mentions of the cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean head to Florida to celebrate their marriage. Dean still hasn't let go of the idea of sex on the beach (and no, he doesn't mean the drink).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's celebrate (now that it's official)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone--  
> So, turns out I really like the happy fics. Have another!  
> Warnings here: gay, incestuous, explicit sex, schmoop, happy established relationship, honeymooning, mentions of possible eating disorder, mentions of the cage, and mentions of hell. I think that's it.

            Sam is sleeping in the passenger’s seat, mouth open and a little bit of drool on his chin. Dean grins, because Sam looks somewhere between adorable puppy and bangable boyfriend. Husband, he reminds himself. Still, they’re here, and he has to get Sam up.

            He feels bad about waking Sam. Like Sam had predicted, they hadn’t, in fact, slept the night before, and had fucked each other stupid until the others had arrived back at the bunker. Sam had offered to drive the first leg of the trip and Dean, exhausted as he was, agreed. But when Sam had woken Dean up to trade places, Sam had woken him up with his hand down Dean’s pants, pushing at his underwear and jeans until Dean was awake enough to lift his hips. Once Sam got them down Dean’s thighs, he’d swallowed down Dean’s cock. It was an amazing way to wake up, and Dean, being the good husband that he is, had returned the favor before sliding behind the wheel. Sam had passed out right after, had sprawled like a sleepy puppy across the seat and stayed there for the next few hours.

            He debates getting to his knees and blowing Sam again, but they’re in a hotel parking lot and Dean can definitely see other people. Maybe there were other times he’d risk it, but he refuses to start their honeymoon with getting arrested. Instead, he nuzzles his nose to the sensitive spot behind Sam’s ear and licks a stripe up his neck.

            Sam hums, awake now, and Dean takes a moment to admire how calm he is. Years ago, back before they were together, someone getting this close to Sam would’ve meant a punch to the face if they were lucky, a knife to the gut if they weren’t. Dean had dodged more than one fist when he shook Sam awake in emergencies. But now, Sam sinks sleepily back into his seat, bring up a hand to run through Dean’s hair. He knows it’s Dean, can tell just from his touch.

            “Wakey, wakey, Sammy,” he teases. “Gotta get a room.”

            Sam stretches and opens his eyes. “We here?”

            Dean pulls back and nods. “Mhm, we made it. Florida, just like you wanted. Man, I can already feel the humidity.”

            Sam grins tiredly. “That’s why we bought the bathing suits. Can sleep in the sun and drink beer and swim in the ocean.”

            “And have sex,” Dean adds.

            Sam snorts. “Sex isn’t gonna help your problem with the humidity.”

            Dean shrugs. “It’ll make me feel better.” Sam tries to fight a smile but fails.

“C’mon, Dean,” he says. “Let’s get a room.”

            They grab their bags from the trunk and walk into the lobby. It’s the nicest place they’ve stayed in a while. It’s a real hotel, with beach access, and one of those beach bars with girly, fruity drinks. But Dean looked it up online right before they left, and the room will have a king size bed and a massive shower and even a bathtub. So it’s worth the extra money.

            There’s a perky brunette behind the desk who looks them both over, and Dean fights the urge to pin Sam to the wall and mark up his neck. Sam is already marked as Dean’s. They wear matching wedding rings, and if that doesn’t say _hands off_ , then Dean doesn’t know what does.

            “Can I help you?” she asks.

            Dean grins, leans over the counter, and makes sure to rest his left hand where she can easily see it. “Yeah, my husband and I need a room.”

            She blinks, once, twice, then her smile picks back up. “Of course.” Dean finishes filling out the register and she hands him two keys, one of which he immediately passes over to Sam.

            Their room is on the first floor, with a sliding balcony door that lets them onto the patio and gives them access to the beach footpath. The extra door makes Dean twitchy, and probably does the same to Sam, but neither of them says anything. They lay a salt line and throw their bags onto the couch.

            Sam is standing at the patio door, looking out at what they can see of the beach. It looks like a bonfire is burning, and if they listen hard, they can hear the gentle crash of waves. Dean pushes up close behind him, wraps his arms around Sam and pushes up his t-shirt.

            Sam squirms. “Dean, man, I’m exhausted,” he says, and Dean can hear how tired he is, the thready quality to Sam’s voice that he tries to hide. But Dean isn’t looking for anything especially athletic tonight. Sam had ridden him like a damn horse last night, had fucked Dean so hard the headboard had pounded dents into the wall, and fucked him against the shower wall. Dean had fucked Sam with Sam practically bent in half after all of that. They’d gotten the hard, crazy fucking out of their system for now. Tonight isn’t about that. Tonight, if Sam is willing, will be soft, and slow, and sweet.

            “I know, Sammy,” Dean says, nosing at the collar of Sam’s t-shirt, smelling his shampoo where his hair brushes his collar. “How ‘bout a bath?”

            Sam grunts and nods, so Dean pulls away with reluctance to go start the bath. The tub is as big as promised, even big enough to fit the two of them. Dean grins. They’ve never been able to do this comfortably before. Maybe he should invest in fancy hotels more often.

            There’re shampoos and conditioners and lotions and other girly things along the side of the tub and Dean appreciates that. Washing Sam’s hair is something he always wishes he did more often. Sam melts and purrs like a little kitten when Dean gets his hands tangled in all that hair. It’s just about the prettiest thing.

            Dean starts to tug off his clothes while the bath is filling, leaving a neat pile on the counter.

            When the tub is full of steaming water, Dean calls for Sam who trudges in, stance tired but eyes bright at the sight of Dean. He begins pulling off his own clothes, as fast as he can physically do so. Dean chuckles and walks over, beginning to help. Of course, he’s hindering more than helping, what with the open-mouth kisses he’s pressing to every area of exposed skin.

            He’s on his knees, pressing kisses to Sam’s hipbones—sharp, magnificent works of art that they are—when Sam whines and says, “Dean. The water’ll get cold.”

            “Then we’ll run more,” he murmurs, now trying to suck a mark into Sam’s skin.

            Sam shifts uncomfortably. “Dean, I’m too tired to keep myself up, gonna fall over if you keep doin’ that.” Dean chuckles as he stands. He climbs into the tub, spreads his legs wide and gestures for Sam to join him.

            Sam doesn’t need to be asked twice, and is sitting between Dean’s thighs a minute later, his ass pressed against Dean’s cock, which is definitely taking an interest in the situation. Sam feels it and laughs quietly. “Again? Dean, you’ve come, what, five, six, times in less than a day. You’re almost forty. How is that even possible?”

            Dean nips at Sam’s earlobe and Sam yelps. “Always horny for you,” he says. He sucks on the earlobe and Sam squirms, obviously getting turned on now too. “And I’m thirty seven. That’s not almost forty.”

            “Aw, baby,” Sam mocks. “S’okay. Gonna love you even when you’re old and gray.”

            “Yeah?” Dean asks.

            “’Course,” Sam says. “Promised forever, didn’t I?”

            “Mhm,” Dean affirms as he releases Sam’s earlobe. “Lean forward for me, baby.”

            Sam does, and Dean uses his cupped hands to get Sam’s hair wet before massaging in shampoo. Sam, like Dean predicted, is making a low humming sound and arching into Dean’s touch. “That feel good?” Dean asks. Sam groans in affirmation and Dean grins. These are the moments he lives for, the times he knows Sam feels impossibly good and it is because of Dean that he feels that way.

            Dean does the conditioner next, then runs more water over Sam’s hair, making sure it’s all out before going back to massaging his scalp. Sam’s reclining further and further back, resting his not-inconsiderable bulk against Dean. “Tired, Sammy?” Dean asks.

            “Wore me out last night,” Sam mumbles.

            “Wanna go to sleep, or you want my hand?” Dean asks, already trailing a hand down Sam’s chest, resting teasingly on his stomach.

            Sam grunts. “Wanna feel you. Then sleep,” Sam says. Dean trails his hand down to Sam’s dick, lightly touching. Sam grunts and thrusts his hips a bit, looking for friction.

            “Shh,” Dean soothes. “Lemme do all the work, baby. Just relax, feel how good it is.”

            Sam’s head is already thrown back, his hair tickling Dean’s neck, and Dean has barely started touching him. He tightens his fist, taking Sam’s cock in a long, slow drag.

            Sam is grunting and moaning now, mouth opened, and Dean can’t help but turn his head at an awkward angle and press their mouths together. They’re not really kissing—that requires a level of coordination neither of them possesses. But it feels good, the slick, slippery slide of lips and tongues.

            Dean is rubbing against Sam’s perfect ass now, grinding his cock forward, feeling the delicious drag of friction, and he’s going to come again soon. He pulls away from Sam’s mouth and instead goes to whisper in Sam’s ear. “So pretty, baby, beautiful. Gonna come for me again? C’mon, Sammy, let go. Let go for me.”

            Sam does, back arching as he comes, ropes of come floating in the now-tepid water. Dean takes his free hand and shoves it between them. It only takes three or four tugs before he too is done, shooting off against Sam’s back and ass.

            When Dean comes back down, Sam is slumped over on his shoulder, eyes half-closed, mouth still open wide. He’d look perfect with a cock between those lips, though Dean knows enough to not mention that when Sam is this tired.

            “C’mon, Sammy,” he says, gently shoving Sam’s shoulder. “Up and out. Water’s gettin’ cold. Time to dry off an’ go to bed.”

            Sam leverages himself out of the tub and pulls the drain while Dean gets them thick, fluffy white towels. Dean hands one to Sam and they dry each other with slow, careful pats. Maybe it’s not as sexual as it sometimes is, what with how tired they are, but Dean still likes it for the soft intimacy of it, even if he would never admit it aloud.

            They walk to their bed, naked, and slide beneath the sheet, pushing the heavier blankets to the foot of the bed. Sam falls asleep almost immediately, ear pressed over Dean’s heart. Dean laces his fingers into Sam’s hair and closes his eyes, drifting off to Sam’s steady breathing.

 

            When Dean wakes up the next morning, the first thing he notices isn’t the Florida sun streaming through the window, or the birds singing, or the sound of waves crashing. No, the first thing he notices is Sam’s mouth, wrapped around his cock.

            The last two times Dean has woken up, it has been to Sam’s mouth on him. If this is what married life is like, then Dean can’t understand why they didn’t do it sooner.

            Fully alert now, Dean grips Sam’s hair and lifts his own head so he can enjoy the view. He brushes Sam’s hair away from his face, holds it back so it won’t obstruct his view. Sam’s eyes are closed, his mouth stretched wide around Dean’s dick, spit slicking Sam’s chin. Sam’s eyes open suddenly, probably in a response to an accidental too-hard tug on his hair, and they lock onto Dean’s.

            Sam’s eyes are beautiful, there’s no other way to describe them. Dean knows people go for his big green eyes, and, yeah, he likes them well enough, and Sam certainly says how much he likes them often enough, but Sam’s eyes are something else. Today, they’re green, but Dean knows they could look blue standing on the beach later. Or a smoky grey under the low-lighting in a bar, and Dean loves that, loves the beautiful array of colors, ever-changing so he never knows exactly what he’ll see.

            Right now, they’re staring into him, looking at Dean with so much love, and no small amount of lust, and, God, before Sam, Dean never thought someone’s _eyes_ would be the thing that practically gets him off, but here they are, Dean gently pushing Sam’s face away, panting and moaning and trying to get out the words.

            “Don’t—don’t wanna come,” he explains.

            Sam’s eyes, were it possible, darken further. “Wanna fuck me?” Sam asks, voice low and rough from having a cock down his throat. “Wanna come inside me?”

            And yes, Dean wants that very much, musters up the muscle movement to nod his head. Sam chuckles. “Gonna take more effort than that, Dean. C’mon. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

            Dean pulls himself together and sits up, drags Sam up the bed and rolls on top of him. He fumbles beneath the pillow, but his hand doesn’t close over the familiar bottle of lube.

            Sam huffs a laugh. “It’s not there, Dean. Still in your bag.”

            Dean groans, because, really, that should have been the first thing they unpacked, no matter how tired they were. He grumbles but gets up to dig through his bag for the elusive lube. He finds it and turns to show Sam.

            Sam, Dean discovers, isn’t really paying much attention. He’s got one finger eased up his ass already, and his other hand is gently tugging on his balls.

            “ _Fuck,”_ Dean says, hurrying to the bed as fast as he can without physically running. He pops the cap on the lube and spreads it over his left hand, pouring excess in his haste, turning his hand and wrist into a slimy mess. Sam removes his finger and Dean replaces it with one of his own, then two, then three.

            Sam’s back arches when he feels Dean’s wedding ring brushing his ass and Dean grins, because now he knows last time wasn’t a random reaction. This is really a thing for Sam.

            “Like that, Sammy?” he murmurs.

            Sam shivers and blushes. “It’s weird, I know, but—fuck—god, oh, damn—it feels so good.”

            Dean grins fondly. “Kinky son of a bitch.”

            Sam’s mouth is opened, panting, but Sam manages to get out, “Kinky for wanting my _husband_ to fuck me?”

            And, oh, God, maybe Sam isn’t the only one with a thing for the fact that they’re married now.

            Dean pulls out his fingers and lines himself up, using his free hand to wrap Sam’s leg around his middle. Sam moves the other leg out, opening himself wider for Dean.

            They both groan when Dean slides in, not stopping until he bottoms out. He wait until Sam digs his heel into Dean’s back, urging him on, before he starts moving with slow, measured thrusts. Sam’s mouth opens in a silent scream and Dean knows he’s found the right angle.

            Dean keeps it slow, giving them both enough to drive themselves crazy but not enough to push them over the edge. Sam is whining, hands fisted in the sheets when Dean suddenly picks up speed, driving into Sam hard and deep, making sure to get his prostate every time. He works a hand between them and strokes Sam’s cock, matching the pace of him driving into Sam.

            Dean comes first, but Sam is right behind him, shouting out loud with the force of his orgasm, calling Dean’s name loud enough to wake the neighbors. He hopes the soundproofing on these rooms is good.

            They’re a sticky, sweaty mess afterwards; Dean sprawled out on top of Sam, blindly reaching to intertwine their hands.

            “Good morning,” Dean says once he’s gotten his breath back, leaning forward to kiss Sam.

            “Mmm, morning,” Sam says after Dean breaks away. “Good way to wake up.”

            Dean chuckles. “Thinkin’ that myself.”

            They’re quiet for a moment, recovering before Sam rolls them so they’re on their sides.   
            “Come on,” he says. “Shower, then breakfast.”

            Dean can’t really argue with that, even if he’d personally like to keep Sam in bed all day. But breakfast sounds good, and there’s a big tile shower in the bathroom that they haven’t had the chance to try yet, so he gets himself up and follows Sam to the bathroom.

            Shower sex isn’t exactly easy for them, considering how big the both of them are, it’s hard to find a shower that they can even both fit in. Then, of course, are the logistics of slippery bodies and hands and walls, so they usually stick to hand jobs and blow jobs. That’s not to say Sam has never picked Dean up and fucked him against a shower wall—he has, more than once—but usually, it just doesn’t happen.

            It doesn’t happen today, either, but Dean is determined to see if they can make it work before their trip is over. Today is all soft touches, and washing each other’s hair, and marriage must be making Dean go soft, because he has to admit that he likes it almost as much as he would fucking against the wall.

            It’s nice to stay in a place where the water doesn’t suddenly go cold, probably the only place besides the bunker where they’ve ever had that luxury, so they take their time before drying off and throwing on swim trunks and t-shirts. Dean has never worn flip-flops in his life, but Sam gives him that sad, puppy-dog face, so Dean quits complaining about how stupid they look and weird they feel and how little protection they offer and puts them on.

            There’s a free complimentary breakfast in the lobby, and Dean expects four stale donuts and a pot of watered down coffee, expects to have to convince Sam to go out to a place that serves real breakfasts. But there’re tureens of eggs and bacon and pancakes and a guy behind a counter making omelets and he can smell the coffee across the lobby. Dean absently starts running numbers to see if they could always manage to swing places like this to stay in.

            Dean’s plate is stacked high with sausage and bacon and scrambled eggs and three chocolate-chip pancakes, which had been Sam’s favorite as a kid and now Dean eats mostly out of nostalgia for the times where Sam was the carefree kid who’d order them in diners (and always got whipped cream out of waitresses, with those puppy-dog eyes) and smothered the whole mess in syrup.

            Sam has oatmeal with brown sugar, an apple, and two steaming mugs of coffee, Dean’s black and Sam’s with a packet of sweetener.

            Dean wrinkles his nose at Sam’s breakfast. “We’re on _vacation_ ,” he complains. “What are you, watching your figure?”

            Sam ignores him as he bites into the apple, and Dean doesn’t press. There is food that is going into Sam, and, really, that’s all Dean can ask for. Sam has been weird about what he eats and what he doesn’t for a long time now, picking a salad over a burger and skipping desert.

            There’re suddenly two people at their table. “D’you mind?” the woman asks apologetically. “Everywhere else is full.”

            Sam is the one who responds, which is probably good, because Dean wants the tell them to _fuck off,_ because he’s _having breakfast with his husband_. But Sam nods and even pushes out the chair for the lady, so they sit down next to them.

            She introduces herself as Pam, and her husband as Drew. Sam smiles and gives his name, then introduces Dean as his husband, and Dean wonders if it’s normal to feel butterflies in his stomach when Sam does that.

            “How long have you two been married?” Pam asks as Drew digs into his waffles. Apparently Drew doesn’t talk much.

            Sam’s smile widens, and Dean gets the feeling that he’s not the only one still overly-excited about being married. “It’s been less than two days,” Sam says.

            “Wow! Congratulations, you guys!” she gushes.

            “Thanks,” Dean says.

            “So, this is your honeymoon?” she asks.

            Sam nods. “He told me to pick, decided we should go to the beach. Can’t actually remember the last time we did that.”

            Pam makes some cooing noise that makes Dean cringe. They’re not fucking cute. They are hunters, they’re dangerous, and, yeah, they’re hot. But not cute. Cute is for teenage girls and kittens. Not them.

            She tells them she and Drew have been married for ten years and nudges Drew in the side until he picks his head up from his plate and nods in agreement. They’re from Nebraska and she’s a teacher, and he sells cars. They have two kids, staying with their grandparents this weekend.

            “How about you two?” she asks. “Thinking of kids? Already have them?”

            “Oh, no,” Sam says, looking a bit alarmed. “We, uh, travel for work. So it wouldn’t—wouldn’t work. I’m not great with kids, either way. Dean would be a good dad, though.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow, because, yeah, maybe Sam doesn’t have as much experience with kids as he does, but he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind about Sam being a great father. “You do fine with Kevin,” he says quietly.

            Sam snorts. “Kevin is _twenty-one_. He can buy alcohol. He isn’t a kid.” Dean snorts, too, because, yeah, he tends to see Kevin as some kid they adopted or something. A really capable, talented kid who is a badass and sucks with a crossbow but isn’t so bad with a super-soaker, but a kid nonetheless. He’s never been able to forget the kid from Advanced Placement who wasn’t prepared to factor the supernatural into his worldview.

            “Kevin is my cousin,” Sam explains for the benefit of the couple watching them. “His mom died right before he graduated high school. He crashes with us sometimes.”

            “Oh, that’s sweet of you to take him in,” Pam says.

            Dean grins and slides a hand up Sam’s knee. “Yeah, well, Sam’s always takin’ in strays.”

            “Shut up, Dean. You’re one to talk.”

            The other couple is watching them amusedly and Dean has a sudden flashback to those barbeques at Lisa’s, that perfect couple façade that, admittedly, hadn’t been the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever done.

            “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy?” he asks. “Lemme see your phone. You got the number for every person you ever met in there. I don’t take in people like that.”

            Sam begins to tick off on his fingers. “Garth, Charlie, Cas, Krissy…back in the day, you took Jo in…”

            “No, no way, man, that wasn’t me. Ellen totally took _us_ in, Jo just came with the package.”

            San nods. “Fair point.”

            Pam is watching them with an amused smile. “How long have you two known each other?”

            “Forever,” Dean says.

            Sam agrees with a nod. “He’s not kidding. I have known him literally as long as I can remember.”

            “That’s sweet,” she says. “Childhood friends turned lovers, then?”

            Sam shrugs. “The second bit took a while.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow. “You were sixteen when you kissed me the first time.”

            Sam blushes. “Well, yeah, thanks for sharing, Dean. But, we, uh, had a bit of a falling out. And then another one. And another one. Really, it was a big long mess with some good periods in the middle.”

            “But you’re still together,” Pam points out. “So that’s good.”

            Sam’s smile is sappy when he looks at Dean. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Couldn’t imagine life without him.”

            Dean isn’t paying much attention to Pam and Drew anymore, is too busy looking into Sam’s eyes and leaning forward, angling for a kiss. Sam obliges, cupping Dean’s face and drawing him closer, sucking on his tongue in a stunning representation of what he was doing to Dean’s dick about an hour before.

            They break apart, flushed and breathing a little heavier. Pam and Drew are still there. Pam’s grinning. “I remember what it’s like to be on my honeymoon,” she says, and Dean knows he’s even redder than he was a minute prior.

            Dean quickly finishes anything left on his plate before pushing it away. “Gotta get to the beach,” he announces, shoving his chair back and taking Sam’s hand.

            Sam smiles at the couple, gives them a “it was nice meeting you,” and follows Dean away.

            Dean groans. “That was…”

            “They were nice,” Sam says firmly. “They were normal people being nice. Now, let’s go to the beach.” He stops. “Crap,” he says. “I forgot something. Meet you outside.”

            The hotel has beach towels for the guests, so Dean grabs a few before meeting Sam out back. First there’s the patio, which has a few grills and some picnic tables, and then there’s the footpath to the beach.

            “Oh, wow,” Sam whispers once they actually make it to the beach, and Dean can’t help but agree. The sand is pure white powder, and the water a crystalline blue with gentle waves. It’s hot as hell, but the closer they get to the water, the better they can feel a slight breeze that takes the worse of the heat away.

            There’s the hotel bar by the footpath, and Dean gets the sudden urge for big, fruity drinks that he’ll never admit to liking. But Sam does like them, but rarely lets himself have them, and this is their honeymoon, and they are supposed to indulge. Dean makes a mental note to get a few later.

            He’s struck by the memory of Sam’s first time at the beach. It hadn’t been Dean’s first, but Dean barely remembers that—all he remembers is an overnight trip with Mom, her belly already softly rounded with the new baby. They’d driven down through Oklahoma and Texas to get to the Gulf, and it was, as far as Dean remembers, a great trip.

            Sam, in contrast, was five by the time they made it to the beach. They were up in Maine, near the coast, and Dad had been in a particularly good mood and brought them. It had been September, though, so the water that far north had already been freezing. Sam had gone in anyways, had splashed in the shallow waves and demanded Dean help him build a sand castle, which Dean had been more than happy to do. He’d been blue-lipped and shivering by the time it was all over, and Dean had wrapped him tight in a stolen motel towel and held him close all the way to the next motel.

            He’s glad he can bring Sam to the beach for real now, somewhere with real towels and bright sunshine and soft sand and sparkling water. Somewhere that looks like a postcard.

            They find a spot a little ways back from the water and spread their towels side-by-side.

            “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean cajoles, “take the shirt off.”

            Sam rolls his eyes but does it, leaving that beautiful, sculpted chest available for Dean’s viewing pleasure. Dean takes his shirt off, too, and Sam pulls out a bottle of what Dean quickly realizes is sunscreen.

            “No way, Sammy,” he says.

            “C’mon, Dean,” Sam says. “You’ll burn to a crisp in this sun, you’ll bitch for days. Hard to have sex when you’re that burnt.”

            “I’ll manage,” Dean says stubbornly.

            “I’ll do you, then you can do me,” Sam offers, and Dean weighs the option.

            “Fine,” he concedes. And he has to admit, it does feel nice to have Sam rubbing the stuff all over him, even if it is cold at first.

            “Where’d you get this?”

            “Dude, hotel gift shop has everything. T-shirts, sunblock, Aloe, snorkeling gear…”

            “Really?” Dean asks as Sam rubs lotion into the back of his legs. “Snorkeling could be fun.”

            “Maybe,” Sam says, offering the bottle to Dean who begins to rub some lotion across Sam’s chest. After a minute, Sam rolls his eyes and says, “dude, I think you have done an excellent job assuring that my nipples will not, in fact, burn. The rest of me could use some sunscreen, too.”

            Dean pouts but moves down, across Sam’s abs. “You take all my fun away,” he mutters.

            “Me, turned on and horny on the beach in broad daylight wouldn’t be fun for long,” Sam says.

            Dean grins. “Told you I wanted to try sex on the beach.”

            “You better be talking about the drink.”

            Dean makes a face as he rubs sunscreen across Sam’s back, dipping his fingers an inch or so down Sam’s low-slung shorts. “Always thought that was a weird name. What the hell is in that, anyways?”

            Sam shrugs. “Vodka. Peach schnapps. Fruit juice.”

            Dean stares at him and Sam shrugs again. “What? I’ve worked in a bar before, remember?”

            Dean’s eyes darken a bit, because he doesn’t like being reminded of that time, where he and Sam were apart because he chased Sam away. Sam’s eyes immediately fill with remorse. “Hey, Dean. It’s okay. Long time ago, right? And besides,” Sam says, holding his left hand out a bit, “we’re married now. Nothing is gonna get between us again.”

            “Yeah,” Dean agrees, and he throws the bottle of sunscreen to the ground and pulls Sam in for a kiss, hands still a slippery mess that rubs off onto Sam’s shoulders.

            Sam chuckles and tries to rub the globs in evenly, then tugs Dean down so they’re lying side by side, sun beating down on them, the sound of the waves lulling them both to sleep.

 

            Dean wakes up, sticky with sweat and sunblock, slightly sandy, and so, _so_ relaxed. Sam’s fingers are still entwined with his, and the waves are still gently crashing, and the sun is still beating down on them, and Dean thinks Sam is a fucking genius to have picked the beach.

            He turns his head to find that Sam is still asleep. Sam looks young like this, young and carefree. Dean likes to think that Sam worries less, feels better, is happier since they’ve been together. But asleep, with Dean nearby to keep the nightmares away, Sam looks like what could’ve been, like a young lawyer or maybe a grad student.

            Or maybe today he just looks like a blissfully happy guy relaxing with his husband while on their honeymoon.

            Dean squints up at the sun and realizes it’s after noon, so he untangles his fingers from Sam’s, kisses his forehead and walks over to the bar.

            Thankfully, they do food, so he orders two big fruity monstrosities, an order of wings, and some sort of spinach dip thing, which he hopes will be enough to appease Sam’s eating green thing. The food comes up relatively quickly, and they even give Dean a tray so he can get it all back over to their towels.

            He sets the tray in the sand, careful to make sure none gets near the food, and gently wakes Sam with a soft shake on his shoulder.

            Sam blinks groggily in the sun before sitting up and eating with Dean. He even eats two of the wings without complaint, which Dean considers a small victory.

            Eventually, they finish the food and are slightly buzzed from the fruity concoctions, which were surprisingly alcoholic. “Wanna go in the water?” Sam offers, and Dean grunts in affirmation.

            The water is warm, but feels cool against their skin, a relief after the pounding sun. There are even bright, tropical fish, though they dart away when Dean tries to get closer.

            The two of them laugh and splash each other and try to tug each other under for the next few hours, and Dean wishes they did something like this sooner. They should make this a regular thing, should get away to somewhere fun and relaxing every year, maybe for their anniversary.

            The thought fills Dean with a warm fuzzy feeling, and how awesome of an anniversary present would it be for him to drag Sam off, only instead of a job being on the other end, it’s a nice hotel and a vacation? Dean is going to be the best husband ever.

            The sun starts to dip lower, and the two of them reluctantly get out of the water and begin to dry off before walking back to their room.

            They shower together, rinsing off the sand and salt, but when Dean tries to go to his knees, Sam pulls him back up. Dean is a little confused, and maybe hurt a bit, but Sam just smiles, says, “I’ve got a surprise for tonight,” and kisses him.

            When they get out—without getting off, Dean is keen to point out—Sam digs through both their duffels and throws a nicer shirt at Dean’s head. “Put that on,” he instructs. “And jeans, but no holes in them.”

            Dean does as instructed, has no idea what’s going on tonight, but any surprise from Sam is pretty much always an awesome one, so he’s more than willing to just go with it.

            Sam looks sinful in a tight blue button-up and dark jeans, and Dean almost says screw whatever Sam has planned, because he really just wants to take that outfit back off Sam. With his teeth. But Sam is already pulling his boots on and clearly has a plan, so Dean follows suit.

            Sam drives, and it turns out their destination is a steakhouse. Dean turns to him once he parks. “Sammy, you sure? You just, uh, don’t always do so well with meat.”

            Sam shrugs. “Asked not to be seated near the kitchen. Hostess thought it was weird, but she agreed. I should—I’m really fucking happy right now, Dean. The last thing on my mind is the cage. I’m not worried.”

            If Sam isn’t worried, then Dean can calm down a little bit. Still, the memory of the first time Sam had smelled cooking meat after the wall fell lingers in Dean’s mind. Sam had started hyperventilating, had taken almost ten minutes to calm back down. All he would say is it had to do with the cage, but Dean has been to hell and could fill in the blanks. Just seeing, smelling, or tasting meat, in any form, can sometimes get to Sam, but what’s really bad is the smell of it cooking, and Dean feels nauseous every time he stops to think what that means, every time he thinks about what those twisted archangels must have done to his brother. But it’s been years, and, as Sam said, he’s happy, he’s not thinking about hell all that often. He has more good days than bad.

            So they walk into the restaurant and are seated as far away from the kitchen as physically possible. Sam quietly thanks the hostess and they look through their menus, one hand to flip the pages, the other holding the other’s hand across the table.

            They order beers and Dean orders the biggest steak on the menu, served with hand-cut french-fries and the “seasonal” vegetable, which Dean already knows he’ll be pushing off onto Sam’s plate. Sam orders a more reasonable sized steak, with mushrooms and a baked potato. Dean doesn’t comment.

            They make small talk while they wait for their food, talking about their friends, discussing how they’ve probably managed to successfully trash the bunker by now. They don’t talk about hunting, they don’t talk about the past.

            Their food arrives, and Dean tries to be subtle about how carefully he’s watching Sam eat, but Sam notices. He puts his fork down. “Dean,” he says patiently. “I’m okay. I can take care of myself. I know when it’s too much.”

            Dean nods. “I just…I worry,” Dean admits.

            Sam smiles. “I know. You’re my…my husband,” Sam says. “And my brother,” he says a bit quieter, so no one at a neighboring table will hear. “You’re supposed to worry. I worry about you. Just…I don’t want you to be so worried you’re stressing about it. I’m—my brain is fucked up. But just being with you—well, you’re stone number one, right?”

            “Yeah, Sammy,” Dean smiles, then asks. “What the hell is this on my plate?”

            Sam rolls his eyes. “Beets, Dean.”

            “Fuck, they’re—they’re fucking purple. You want them?”

            Sam scrapes the beets onto his own plate and proceeds to enthusiastically eat them. He clears his plate, and Dean can’t help but smile a bit.

            They get desert, and Dean’s eyes light up a bit when he sees pecan pie on the menu. Sam gets a piece of chocolate cake, the kind with fudge sauce oozing out the center, and Dean steals a few bites.

            Sam settles the check and they go back out to the Impala, walk with their sides pressed together, Dean’s arm slung around Sam’s hips. “That was great, baby,” Dean says.

            Sam grins, clearly proud of himself. “Yeah, well, it’s not over yet.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Where’re we goin’?”

            But Sam won’t answer, just drives them back to the hotel in silence, ignoring Dean’s pestering.

            He pulls back to the hotel and tugs Dean back to their room, presses Dean face-first down into the bed and tugs Dean’s jeans around his thighs.

            Dean wiggles his ass invitingly. “This the rest of your surprise?”

            Sam bites the flesh of Dean’s ass. “You’ll see,” he says, then uses one hand to spread Dean’s cheeks and licks a stripe across Dean’s hole.

            “Fuck! Motherfucking Christ!” Dean practically howls.

            Sam hums and licks around Dean’s rim for a moment before stabbing his tongue into the warm, inviting hole.

            Dean is gripping the sheet with white knuckles and swearing profusely by the time Sam pulls his face away, and he’s whining. Sam chuckles. “Just a second,” he murmurs, and then lubed fingers are tracing Dean’s rim, and one slips in, the path made easier with Sam’s spit.

            “God, baby, so fucking good,” Dean moans, three fingers buried deep inside him. He’s pushing back onto the fingers, trying to hint that he’s ready for Sam’s dick.

            Sam pulls his fingers out, and Dean braces for his dick. But nothing comes. He turns around to ask Sam what gives, only Sam isn’t even there anymore.

            “Dude, what the hell?” he asks.

            Sam shrugs. “Told you. It’s a surprise. Now put these on,” he says, throwing Dean’s still-damp bathing suit at him.

            Dean makes a face. “It’s wet,” he whines. Sam rolls his eyes.

            “You want your surprise or not?”

            Dean grumbles but changes, manages to get the bathing suit over his rock-hard cock. Sam changes quickly, then grabs the towels from earlier. Once their both in bathing suits, Sam tugs on Dean’s hand once more, guides him out onto the patio and towards the beach. Dean is walking a bit slower than normal, and Sam slows down to accommodate him.

            There are still a few scattered people, but Sam turns sharply to the left, walks down the beach with Sam trailing after him. Soon enough, they’re out of the glow of the Tiki torches and bonfire, away from the other hotel guests.

            Sam walks towards the water and, right where the sand ends and the water begins, he pulls off his shorts and leaves them on the sand, the towels on top of them. Dean sucks in his breath, because Sam looks gorgeous in the slight moonlight. Dean quickly follows suit and follows Sam into the waves.

            By the time Sam stops walking, the waves are brushing his abs. He pulls Dean in close, kisses him hard and long.

            It’s probably the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him, not that Dean is going to admit it. But the warm water and the moonlight, the stunningly attractive man biting at his bottom lip, the warm breeze caressing their skin, all scream perfect.

            He hooks one of his legs over Sam’s hip, and Sam slides his hands under Dean’s ass, hoisting him up. Dean holds tightly around Sam’s neck.

            “This your big romantic plan?” Dean asks as Sam nips at his throat.  
            “Mhm,” Sam says against his skin. “You wanted sex on the beach. Consider it a wedding present.”

            Dean chuckles, but it breaks into an embarrassingly breathy moan when Sam shifts to support Dean with only one hand and uses the fingers of the other to rub Dean’s asshole. “Fuck, Sammy…” he cries when Sam slips a finger inside.

            “Shh,” Sam cautions. “No one can see us, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come down this way if they hear something.”

            So Dean bites into the meat of Sam’s shoulder to keep himself quiet while Sam quickly checks to make sure he’s still open. Then Sam shifts his grip once again, lines himself up, and drives home.

            Sam is going to have a spectacular imprint of Dean’s teeth on his shoulder tomorrow, because biting down is the only way Dean can ensure he won’t scream at the top of his lungs.

            Sam starts moving immediately, driving into Dean with long, hard thrusts, Dean bouncing up and down in Sam’s grip.

            This isn’t going to be long, Dean knows, because, as strong as Sam is, he can’t support Dean’s weight without any aid at all for very long. But Sam seems determined to get them both off before they have to end this, and, as far as Dean is concerned, Sam is doing a great job.

            “Fuck, Sammy, baby, so good, so fucking good, love you, love you so fucking much,” Dean moans against Sam’s neck. “Fucking perfect, Sammy, feel so fucking good, come on, come inside me,” Dean pleads as he takes one of his hands off Sam’s shoulder and works it between their bodies.

            It doesn’t take much longer until they’re both coming, Dean’s scream once again muffles against Sam’s shoulder. As soon as he thinks his knees are steady enough, Dean slides off of Sam and pulls him into an embrace.

            They stay there for a few minutes, getting their breath back while holding each other, under the moonlight in the middle of the ocean. Finally, Dean pulls away and walks back to shore, Sam following right behind him.

            They out their swim trunks back on and Dean lies out the two big, fluffy towels side by side, overlapping slightly. He lies on one side and pats the other half invitingly. Sam lies next to him.

            “You know, we’re gonna wake up covered in sand,” Sam says quietly.

            “Good,” Dean says. “’Cause we have that fucking awesome shower. And then we can fuck in there.”

            Dean spoons behind Sam, draping an arm across his stomach. Sam laces their fingers together.

            “Thanks,” Dean says. “For tonight.”

            “’Course,” Sam says tiredly. “Anything for my husband, right?”

            Dean knows his smile is goofy and something he’s made fun of guys for wearing before. He feels bad about that now, because he totally gets where they were coming from.

            Dean kisses the back of Sam’s neck. “Get some sleep, Sammy,” he whispers. “Got a ton more things to do before we head home, an’ you’ll need your rest.”

            


End file.
